PARENTING; A Child's Long Nights, Waiting for Mom

By MICHAEL WINERIP

Published: October 15, 2006

NAKIA ALEXANDER felt she had to take the promotion at McDonald's from a crew member to a second-shift manager. Though she would lose daytime hours, she believed she'd get more respect.

''If a crew person tries to say something, who are you? Just a crew person.'' As second-shift manager, she'd supervise eight people. ''It was between me and someone with no kids,'' said Ms. Alexander, a 27-year-old single mother with a 2-year-old boy. ''I felt like if I didn't take it now, no telling when.''

Second shift is from 3 to 11 p.m., but her day is longer than that. The McDonald's is in suburban Boonton, a half-hour's drive from her Newark apartment. Plus she gives rides to two co-workers from Newark; it's hard finding suburban people to work at McDonald's.

At first she left her son, Jabari, with family -- her mother, grandmother or uncle -- but she wasn't comfortable with that. ''They'd say, 'No problem.' But you can hear the undertone in their voice. They'd rather be doing something else.''

So last month she switched Jabari to a late-night child care program. She now drops him off at Harmony Day Care in nearby Irvington at 2:15 p.m. and picks him up at 11:45. ''I have consistency, I don't have to worry about where he is, and I have no problems with undertone,'' she said.

There are new problems, though. By the time they get home, it's after midnight, and Jabari is wide awake. ''He's ready to play,'' Ms. Alexander said.

Over the last decade late-night child care has spread, fueled partly by the growth of a 24/7 corporate culture. But it is also a response to federal welfare reform. With welfare recipients now required to work, states have had to finance flexible day care to support them. In New Jersey, three dozen day care centers are licensed for late-night hours.

Ketty Michel, director of Harmony in Irvington, a poor town bordering Newark, doubled her program size last year, opening a second building in a converted Blockbuster video store. Her nonprofit agency serves 140 children, 80 percent of them getting a state subsidy. The parents are mainly single mothers and typically pay $30 of the $175 weekly fee.

For these families, Harmony is a safe haven -- from the local methadone clinic; from the dealers; from the three shootings nearby in the last month. On a recent night, eight children were still there at 9 o'clock. Most were asleep or sat quietly in a dark classroom. When Patricia Jones arrived, Aaron, 7, and Nyree, 4, raced for their coats and backpacks. Aaron comes after school, but Nyree had been there 13 hours. ''They're ready to go,'' Ms. Jones said. She works as a nursing-home aide by day, then takes a course to become a licensed nurse.

Keisha Saunders arrived at 9:30 for her son, Nasir, 2. She is a sales clerk at a clothing store in the Short Hills mall. She was lucky this night; she got a ride. Otherwise it is 40 minutes on the No. 70 bus. ''Where's my baby?'' she asked, picking up the sleeping Nasir and carrying him away on her shoulder.

Two children slept, but not Jabari. He was tossing on his small cot. ''Jabari knows when all the other children leave, it's time for his mother,'' whispered Harriet Williams, the night worker. ''Sometimes he sits in the little blue chair by the door. He can see her through the glass.''

When it was clear Jabari wouldn't sleep, Ms. Williams took him to the corner where light shone from the office, put him on her lap and read ''Patch the Puppy.'' ''Where's the duck?'' she whispered. ''What happened to the puppy?''

''Uh-oh,'' Jabari said. The puppy fell in the water.

Outside, it was storming, and with every lightning flash, Jabari rushed to the window and said, ''Oh, God.'' For an hour, he built skyscrapers out of cloth blocks with Ms. Williams and kicked them over. Then they both said, ''Uh-oh,'' and he did it again.

When Veronica West arrived at 11:35, her 2-year-old, Marcus, appeared asleep. But he jumped up and beamed at her. ''It's hard,'' said Ms. West, who works as a counselor at a program for the disabled. ''It's the only job I got and the only shift they'll give me right now.''

Near midnight, Ms. Alexander arrived in her white manager's uniform. Jabari showed her how he and Ms. Williams played choo-choo train derailment. By the time Ms. Alexander dropped off her co-workers, it was 12:30. She unlocked the front door and Jabari hopped across the living room to the DVD. ''Time for 'Dora the Explorer,' '' Ms. Alexander said. Jabari fidgeted until she sat beside him on the couch. ''Jabari can't watch his show alone,'' she said.

She's not sure the shift manager's job is worth this life. It pays 50 cents more an hour, and most of that goes for extra child care. ''I didn't know it would only be $8 an hour,'' she said. Ms. Alexander dropped out of high school, got her G.E.D, then did a tour in the Navy. When she came out, she went to a trade school to learn medical billing and coding, but said she couldn't find work and wound up at McDonald's.

She worries about how much time Jabari spends in day care. ''In the afternoon, we pull in the parking lot, he says, 'No, no, no.' '' At day care he's taught to throw dirty paper plates in the garbage; at home, he thinks he's being good when he throws his mom's dishes in the garbage.

Ms. Alexander says she tries to spend all her free time with him. Before bed, they read books, say good night to the posters on his wall, sing the ABC's together.

She has hopes for Jabari. ''I want him to be safe and smart, that's the major thing. Whether he's a lawyer or works in a corner store, as long as there's no chance of going to jail.

''I love being with him. I wouldn't take back having him at all. Just knowing I'm needed -- if I don't go to work every day, he won't have food or clothes. He's such a character. When I'm with him, we don't have any worries. We sit and make silly noises. We make faces at 'Dora the Explorer.' Who wouldn't want to do this?'' Jabari hopped off the couch and wiggled like the dancing moose on the DVD.

At 1:30, Ms. Alexander said they wouldn't be up much later. ''He'll have his tub and we should be in bed by 2,'' she said. ''We have to get up early to do laundry.'' There's a Laundromat a 10-minute drive away, in East Orange.